Wednesday, 30 November 2011

December is almost here, the beginning of the official
Christmas (or for those of you in the US – holiday) season.It can be a tough time for those of us
without children.I’ll write more about
different aspects of this, and how I get through it, later in the month.

Now is when we start thinking about sending cards.I’ve seen discussions from friends in the US and
Canada, the inadequacy they feel when they send out their own cards, with
photos of two (with the odd beloved pet thrown in) when they receive cards
with photos of their friends and all their children.The pain of opening cards and seeing yet
another seemingly happy family, perhaps a new arrival in the photograph, and
then have to look at those photos till after New Year.What a sock in the face that must be.

Fortunately, here in New Zealand, the personalised photo
cards are very rare.In fact, the only
ones that I ever receive are from friends in the US. I find it a somewhat odd custom. Perhaps we’re a bit lower key in New Zealand,
but we don’t presume to think our friends want our faces looking back at them
throughout the festive season.In the spirit of the season, we send
cards to our friends and family that are about them, not about us.

I carefully choose cards that will fit the
recipient.I think I would have done
that regardless of whether photo-cards were traditional here in New
Zealand.(After all, I do it with my own home-made cards for friends and family throughout the year).And I hate to bow to a tradition if it doesn’t
work for me.

So at Christmas, my religious friends get a card with a
biblical scene on it.Children, or
friends/relatives get cards with Santa, often humorous ones in New Zealand that
show Santa with a suntan, lying on the beach with the reindeer, a beer in hand,
and a barbecue sizzling away in the background, you know the type.Other friends will get elegant Christmas
trees, or decorations, or for my Buddhist/Muslim friends/family I will hunt out New
Year cards.

It means Christmas cards have never been a source of pain
for me.And for that, I’m very thankful.

Perhaps I lie.They
can be a bit painful, but only when I either a) receive a card from someone I’ve
forgotten to send one to, and it’s too late to get one posted before Christmas,
or b) when I don’t receive one from people I really want to hear from!

Tuesday, 29 November 2011

My husband and I went to see The Debt on the weekend. Helen Mirren is a
favourite of mine – and the reviews were of a talented cast and intelligent
script. So I was keen to see it.

I will try not to give any spoilers. I will try to choose my words carefully.

I thought the movie was very good. We went for an Indian meal after the movie, and discussed it. Any movie that causes a discussion or debate, that lingers beyond the movie theatre, is good in my book. The Debt is not a big “shoot-em-up” movie, but one
based on suspense, a mystery, and characters finely honed, subtly
portrayed. My kind of movie.

It was a thriller. So
I knew there would be tension. I found
it in an unexpected place, in a very powerful presentation of how the woman
agent’s bravery far eclipsed that of her male colleagues. I almost physically recoiled at the scenes in
the fertility doctor’s office. I hardly
recall feeling so horrified at a movie. Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying there was blood or gore or cruelty. They didn't need these devices to make a powerful scene. I
don’t think men will get how creepy, how very disturbing, those
scenes were. Brilliantly played, I
thought. But yes, horrific, and
traumatic. I think any woman would find them so. A woman who has been through infertility
might find them especially so.

Which is why I felt I needed to make this a public service
announcement. I want to warn you, if
you’re feeling raw and vulnerable about seeing fertility specialists, then that
this might not be the movie for you. Personally
I’m very glad I saw it. But I feel light-years
away from a fertility specialist’s office these days. It might be different if I had to walk into one next week.

Tuesday, 22 November 2011

It is easy for those of us without children but who had wanted children, in our
lower moments, to think that if we only had children all our problems would be
solved, or to dwell on how happy and fulfilled we would be.And yet we all know that’s not how it would
be.There’s a saying warning us to “be
careful what we wish for.”And for good
reason.Nothing is ever quite what you
expect.

So at times, I think about what my life might be like if I
had children.And my mind doesn’t always
turn to the positives.More realistic
now than when I was trying to conceive, I wonder if:

my life would have turned into drudgery, and the house turned
into a tip, because I cannot imagine I would have been Supermum.

I would be constantly tired and irritated.I know I wouldn’t have found a hidden energy.
I suspect that any reserves of patience would be hiding out with the hidden energy.

I would feel resentful of my husband, resenting the fact
that he wanted children, and blame him.

I would forget those years of wanting children, and remember
only the years when I didn’t want children.

I’d be fatter because I finished off my children’s food, or
if I’d be thinner because I’d never get time to eat.I suspect it would be the former.

I’d have grown gray not so gracefully, simply because I
wouldn’t have time to get my hair coloured.

my days would fly by, never being able to achieve what I had
planned, and see the years fly by in turn, or alternatively, if the days would
drag by, the chores never-ending.

I would feel trapped at the end of the world, trapped in my
life, trapped looking after children.

Of course, I will never know how I would have felt.But sometimes, these days, I do breathe a
sigh of relief, and think that maybe I was lucky I didn’t have children. Sometimes, and increasingly often, there are no regrets. It helps, it really does, to look honestly at this side of
my life that might have been, to be honest about my personality and capabilities, and even (at times) to be glad that I don’t
ever have to find out.

After all, isn’t happiness wanting what you have, not
getting what you want?

Thursday, 17 November 2011

Beef Princess made another point about the label childless
not by choice when you’ve had to decide that enough is enough. She suggests Childless by Exhaustion, which I
understand and quite like! In my case, it
might be Childless by Running Out of Time.
But actually, these days, I wouldn’t use such a description.

The problem is that the labels childLESS or childFREE automatically convey additional information about our
history, and our feelings about our situation. And (as you may have guessed) I don’t
always want to share that information.
These labels make a point of telling people we either feel a loss and that we are living in sadness, or
that we are delighted we don’t have children and celebrate it daily.
Some people are very comfortable with those labels, and that’s fine for
them. I can certainly understand that
some people might choose to use the label childless because they don’t want to
be grouped in with all the negative accusations that are (sadly) often directed at the
childfree. At times I have felt that way
too, particularly in those immediate years after we learned we would live without children. In those years, I certainly felt child less. But, even then, that is not how I wanted to portray
myself to the world. I abhorred the idea
of pity, and I hated the prospect of successful parents looking down on me,
having achieved something I couldn’t. My
situation was private, and my feelings about it were private. And so the label childless felt too
defensive, too negative, and I’ve never
comfortably used it.

Now, eight years on, it certainly isn’t the right label for
me. Sometimes I feel childless. Or I feel childless with a secret relief. It’s simply not that straightforward, and so I
try not to describe myself either way. But
neither is childfree, because the truth is that we tried to have children. If either of my pregnancies had implanted in
the right place, I might have children by now.
And so childfree doesn’t seem quite right. Sure, sometimes I feel child free. Or I feel child free tinged with guilt or
sadness for feeling that way. But it
doesn’t fully describe me.

The problem I have with both of these labels is that they
allow others to make a judgement about our choices, and invite an emotional
response (pity, superiority, horror, disbelief, etc). And that isn’t fair. After all, the words parent or mother don’t
have any such connotations to them, do they?
They don’t say “mother by choice” or “mother not by choice” or “parent by accident” or “mother by drunken binge on a Friday night in the back seat of
the car of a guy she’d just met in the bar” or “parent by broken condom.” They don’t say “parent after ten years of
trying to conceive and thousands of dollars of fertility treatments” or “mother
who thought kids would save her marriage” or “ happy mother who always wanted kids and
got everything she wanted” or “mother who thought she always wanted kids till
she got them and now wishes she didn’t.”
The words parent or mother are just factual statements.

Fact: I’m simply a woman, first and foremost.
Fact: I don’t have
children.

I'll proffer that information only if it's relevant. I guess that’s why - here and in informal situations - I like
using the “no kidding” term. It’s simply
a fact. It doesn't comment on how others should feel about it, or I feel about it. And as anyone who has read my blog can see, my feelings aren't black and white (even if my blog is).

Wednesday, 16 November 2011

A new blogger, Beef Princess at Simply Not Conceivable, has joined our community. I love the by-line to her blog:

because not everyone can have children, but they can still
have a life.

This week she got me thinking, and I wanted to respond. And if, in doing so, I direct some readers to
her blog, all the better.

She raised the question of adoption. I’ve not addressed this issue yet here, though I plan to at
some stage. I loved her comment that Most people won’t have to try so hard
to have kids. They will never have to
answer that question. I think that’s
what makes me so angry about this question, this assumption from the fertiles
that we can “just” adopt. It is so easy
for them to blithely say, “we would have adopted if we couldn’t have children.” But such comments are
meaningless unless they have been through infertility, perhaps spent all their
disposable income on fertility treatments, exhausted themselves emotionally (as
Beef Princess points out) through years of disappointment and grief, put their
relationship under huge pressure, and perhaps dealt with pregnancy losses or
still-births.” Try saying “just adopt”
and mean it after all that. We know it
isn’t that easy. And I wish others did too.

Sunday, 13 November 2011

We are in the midst of an election campaign here in New
Zealand. The relief of winning the Rugby
World Cup has been quickly replaced by the frustration of seeing political
pollution (candidates’ hoardings) everywhere we go, of listening to the
political pollution on the radio when I’m not quick enough to turn it off, and
of trying to avoid reading the political pollution on the Internet or in my
newspaper.

So far this year there hasn’t been too much of an emphasis
on family. Issues include the economy,
debt, asset sales, to name a few. To be frank, I’m not
paying that much attention, as I still feel bruised from previous years. You see, in previous years, family was the
most commonly used word in the political campaigns. And I understand that for most people their family is
their concern. But for those of us who
don’t have children – don’t have a family in the sense of the word that most
people identify with - this is simply another time of the year when we feel
marginalised, isolated, alone. It is
another time of the year when we are reminded that our worth, to society, is so
low that our only value is as a taxpayer.
It is another time of the year when we are ignored, swept aside, where - despite having a vote - we simply don't count.

Tuesday, 8 November 2011

THAT question.Do you
have kids?There are quite a lot of
posts around at the moment where the question of what to say to this question
is being mentioned. I know I’ve addressed this before.But I keep seeing
the issue come up - and the common thread is that no-one feels comfortable
answering this question.

Some people feel it is rude not to answer.

Others feel they want to be "honest" and provide details.

Others feel they need to justify why they don’t have
children.

Others don’t want to answer, but just don’t know what to say.

I remember seeing the film of a psychological experiment
where someone, in a public place, simply started giving orders to passers-by.The innocent passers-by were remarkably obedient,
compliant, submissive even. The
conclusion was that obedience – especially to someone who projects authority
and the expectation of obedience - is obviously an instinctive response.I wonder if that explains why why we feel we
have to answer a question, any question, when we’re asked? Even when we don’t want to?I think this instinct to be obedient, to
conform, and not to be rude is especially strong in women. So we’re really in trouble when we’re asked if
we have kids, aren’t we? It explains
perhaps why we feel we’re being dishonest for not giving out full details of
the reasons why we don’t have children.

But, you know, I don’t think that choosing to withhold information is in any way dishonest or rude.Why should we feel that way, especially as sometimes the questions are rude
/ insensitive /invasive or personal?I think we are simply exercising our right to
privacy.I don't choose to bring up
that topic.So why should I respond, in
any detail or at all?And a lack of
response, or a simple answer, isn’t rudeness or dishonesty.A rude response might be “mind your own @%$#*&^
business!”A dishonest response might be
a response that simply isn’t true.But a
decision not to answer or give details?That’s not rude, or dishonest. It is simply the answer we want to give.

I chose to give a one word answer – No.Depending on who is asking, I may or may not follow up with any details. But usually, my view is that if they don't know me well enough to know I have children, then they don't know me well enough to know any details! So I simply say "No." And when I say it – with a strong tone, with a degree of finality, but
always politely – I find I am not asked the inevitable follow-up question “why not?”(And let’s face it, that’s the one we really
don’t want to answer!)By not offering more information, by strongly implying that that
topic of conversation is a dead end, I find that those asking the question – perhaps responding
to their own need to be obedient – move on to another topic too.

I feel strongly that as a community we need to claim our
right to respond the way we want to.We
shouldn’t feel cowed, or victimised, by questions we don’t want to answer. I hope that we all will one day feel strong enough to choose to answer – or not
– as we see fit, and without guilt, or fear, or shame.

Thursday, 3 November 2011

As part of our holiday, we took a cruise from Athens to
Venice.It was our first cruise, and we
were amongst the youngest on the cruise - although not the youngest.I remember another childless friend
commenting years ago that her and her husband found they had more in common with the empty-nesters and
the retired folks who were living a childfree life, and how it made her feel
old before her time.I felt a little
like that on the cruise, knowing that my friends with children couldn’t do
this, at this time of year, because of school commitments, and occasionally feeling slightly odd, wondering if I too was old before my time.

But putting those feelings aside, the cruise was
wonderful.Waking up every day in a new
place without having to pack or fly or drive anywhere was bliss, enjoying a
glass of champagne and the gentle breeze as the ship sailed out of port every
evening was amazing, and sharing it all with my husband was a joy.

And it was childfree.There are no facilities for children on this ship, and so the youngest person on the
ship was about 18 (other than the energetic, young crew, that is).This meant that the
cruise services were all pitched at adults.It was sophisticated; there were of course cocktail parties to start and end the
cruise, dinner was late and, in two of the restaurants at least, chic and
classy (I’m trying to find synonyms for sophisticated).It was perfect.And as I’ve mentioned on previous holidays,
the absence of children for an entire week was in fact liberating – and you
know, I’m pretty sure I wasn't the only one (childless or not) who relished being in an adults only space for a time.

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About Me

This is my blog on living and loving life without children after infertility. Currently I'm a blogger, a self-employed businessperson, amateur photographer, and traveller.

I blog on A Separate Life about my everyday life, but this is a space for thoughts on my No Kidding lifestyle, the good and the bad, remembering what was lost, and celebrating what I have.

My husband and I are the stereotypical couple without children who love to travel. I am (at) travellingMali on Instagram and there I post photos of various trips internationally, past and present, and of NZ travels, along with the occasional photos from where I live.

In 2013 I travelled in Europe and the Middle East for five months, and kept a blog at Lemons to Limoncello.

I also had a travelblog some years ago, but stopped posting in 2012, which you can see at Mali's Travelalphablog. I'm hoping to start a travel blog again, so watch this space!